


Quiet Days

by Wheeljack



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheeljack/pseuds/Wheeljack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and some not so quiet ones thrown in for good measure. Drabble collection for all things Ratchet and Wheeljack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Each Other

Wheeljack was in a chipper mood as he stepped into the Medbay. The day had been uneventful for once, but no less productive than the rest of his week. He'd managed to get several projects squared away, and had submitted them all for review. Actually left with free time, he'd decided to pay Ratchet a visit. Primus only knew when the last time the medic had refueled that cycle. He hadn't since the start of the day, and if that was any indication to go by, chances were the medic hadn't either. That and he figured he could keep him company for the last part of the shift.

“Ratchet?” the engineer called, glancing around the seemingly empty Medbay. Perhaps he was in his office? Almost as if to answer that silent question, the very medic he was looking for came stalking out of said office.

“What happened this time?”

Uh-oh, Ratchet was in a bad mood. If his barbed tone hadn't clued him in, the caustic look on his face plates did. Seeing as there were no current patients taking up room, Wheeljack was reasonably sure someone had done something stupid and been kicked out after being repaired; if they got repaired, at any rate. He idly wondered who it might have been this time as he hurried to assure the medic everything was fine. “Nothing exploded-”

“Then what shorted? Over-heated? Melted? Burned?” Ratchet stalked closer with every word before stopping in front of him, hands on cherry hips and critical optics sweeping over him helm to pedes. The engineer gave a laugh when he felt a not so subtle scan sweep over him next.

“Ratchet, I'm fine you silly medic!” He spun around slowly so the other mech could see all of him, and held out his hands as if to say 'see?' when he came back around. The CMO eyed him critically a moment more before huffing at him and shaking his head.

“With you I can never be sure!” Crossing his arms, his hard look turned questioning. Obviously the engineer wasn't harmed in any way, so why was he here? Neither of their shifts ended for another half a joor at the least. “So what brought you in then? You're not procrastinating are you? I know you can't be done with everything.”

Wheeljack shook his head, venting in amusement. “Not everything, no, but everything that needed to be done today! I suppose I could have used the extra time to get ahead but... I haven't refueled since this morning, and I'll bet all my transistors you haven't either...” He trailed off and eyed the medic for a long moment, daring him to say otherwise.

For a moment it looked like Ratchet would do just that, but the moment was there and gone, and he rubbed at his face plates tiredly. “I haven't actually,” he muttered truthfully. “It seems every bot on this Primus forsaken ship has decided to be glitches today. Every-slagging-one.”

Wheeljack tilted his head. “Even Prime?”

Ratchet spun on his heel and headed back toward his office since it seemed his accident prone inventor was actually fine. “Don't get me started on _that_ fragger!” Wheeljack bit back a laugh and followed after him. The medic was grumbling under his breath, and while he didn't catch very much of it, he did catch something about not enough recharge, a welder, and a medberth. He was probably the only medic in existence that could and would follow through on that threat, Prime or no Prime.

Once back in the confines of his office, the medic flopped ungracefully into his chair. There were two piles of haphazardly stacked datapads on the surface, one much higher than the other. It was this higher stack that Ratchet focused his ire on. Wheeljack shook his head in sympathy as he slid into the chair opposite. “You weren't joking, were you?”

The CMO shot him a sour look. “No, I wasn't. No one seems to realize how much work they give me with their stupid stunts. Just because I've fixed them and kicked them out on their afts doesn't mean I'm done with it. I still have to report the incident, still have to make the relevant notes on their medical records, still have to file it all...” He jabbed an angry finger at the pile, watching the pads teeter back and forth with a scowl.

Wheeljack gave him a sympathetic look. He hadn't realized just how much went on in the background until several vorn after meeting the medic. And even then he hadn't realized the true extent of it all until he'd started paying him personal visits. More often than not, the engineer would find him playing catch up with the paperwork. It was one of the reasons he got so frustrated with himself when he constantly caused the CMO more work with his accidents. He tried being careful - he really did – but it never seemed to matter in the long run. “What are you doing now?” he asked, eying the pile of pads himself. “Just reviewing and finalizing?”

Ratchet vented with a nod and reached for the datapad he'd thrown down earlier when he had heard the Medbay doors open. Primus, he hated filing with a passion. He'd deal with twice the stupidity if it meant he never had to file another report... well... maybe not the twice stupidity. He vented again, twice as forceful as the last.

Wheeljack reached across the desk to pluck one of the pads from the top of the pile. Ignoring the look the medic was giving him, he settled back in his chair and flicked it on. “If it's just reviewing, I can help you out while I'm bugging you, at least.”

The CMO was still frowning at him. “...you really don't have to do that, Wheeljack. Shouldn't be period.” He made no move to take the pad, however, and instead focused back on the one in his own grasp. “And you're whole and healthy, so no, you are not 'bugging' me.”

The engineer chuckled in response, optics scanning over the data on the pad slowly. Oh, Sideswipe, would he ever learn? “Ah, shush, Ratch'. How long have I been helping you with this sort of thing? You know I take patient confidentiality just as seriously as you do.”

“Not what I meant,” Ratchet replied, glancing up to briefly look at him. “I shouldn't _need_ help to finish any of this. It's my job, 'Jack. I'm the fragging CMO for Primus' sake.”

Wheeljack shook his head and this time it was his turn to give the medic a look. “Ratchet, most CMOs operate with fully staffed, fully stocked Medbays. They have junior medics to delegate tasks to. Most have more than one senior medic to spread the work load between. Don't sell yourself short. What you manage between just you, First Aid and Swoop is amazing. Any other medic would have snapped by now or given up at the very least.”

Ratchet made no response to that; at least not verbally. His optics flickered up to meet the engineer's earnest gaze before falling back to the datapad. Anyone else might have missed it, but not Wheeljack. He'd known the medic for far too long to miss the almost indiscernible upturn of his lips. “...you do realize I could probably count the number of fully operational medbays on one servo, right?”

_Stubborn medic!_

Wheeljack just grinned at him and shook his head. The medic really couldn't stand not having the last word; even if it served no other purpose than to _be_ said last word. “How about this, Ratchet: I'll help you get this finished up, and then we'll go down to the rec room and grab a cube. It's late enough; there's probably not a lot of bots down there, and if there is we can take them to one of our quarters. How's that sound?”

Ratchet snorted, and the engineer was happy to see the mirthful glint in his optics when he looked up. “No offense, but let's just make that my quarters. I'd rather not get lost in that junk heap you call your room.”

Wheeljack laughed heartily at that, audio fins flashing merrily in time with the sound. “Ah, my room's not _that_ bad!” he protested. At the long look the medic speared him with, he laughed again and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, so maybe it is... Your quarters it is then.”

The medic finally smiled at that. It was small, but genuine, and that was what really mattered. “ _Maybe_ right. Keep kidding yourself, 'Jack.” He relaxed back into his chair, amused optics watching him over the top of his datapad.

“Oh shush,” he retorted, sticking his glossa out at him briefly before simply grinning. It was silly and immature to be sure, but the quiet laugh it netted him was worth it in his opinion. Anything that put the medic into a better mood was worth it, really.

The two fell into a comfortable silence after that; simply enjoying the presence of one another as they slowly worked through the pile of datapads. It was rare they got to enjoy a quiet moment like this, and truth be told, Wheeljack enjoyed them the most. There was no rush. No hurry. No deadlines hovering over them. No fear for injured comrades and friends. No worries or concerns.

Just each other.


	2. Just a Typical Morning

“Wheeljack.”

The sound of his name was the first thing the engineer became aware of as his systems sluggishly cycled up out of recharge. The tone was soft, but an edge of urgency rang through it that dragged him up into awareness despite his best efforts to ignore it. His name was repeated a few more times, each repetition dragging him further and further from the comfortable abyss of recharge.

The next thing he became aware of was his berth trying to move out from under him. A noise of protest whined out of him and he tried his best to stay exactly where he was. Said berth was apparently not amused by this and only wriggled and shoved harder.

“Wheeljack, _move_. I have to get up.”

One dim optic onlined to find Ratchet giving him an exasperated look, very much stuck as the engineer refused to let go. He vaguely remembered powering down snuggled up to the medic, but apparently at some point during the lunar cycle he'd rolled over on top of him. “Wha' time izzit?”

“Time for me to get up,” was the less than informative answer.

A quick ping to his chronometer revealed it was far too early for either of them to be awake yet. Neither of their shifts started for another joor. Typical Ratchet. Late to berth, early to rise. Wheeljack shifted his weight to a more comfortable snuggle-lock for the both of them, determine to get the medic to rest a while longer. It was rare when they weren't rudely pulled out of recharge by one crisis or another. Whatever he wanted to get a head start on could probably wait.

“Too early,” he denied, some of the static in his voice clearing as he settled into a semi-awake state. His optics were still half shuttered, chin resting on the medic's chest.

Ratchet wasn't having any of it. He tried once more to pry the smaller mech off, but the Lancia just grunted and held on, optics widening into his best pleading look. Recharge time was one of the few occasions the engineer retracted his mask and he used it to his full advantage, lips twisting into a pout. The medic cursed quietly, optics narrowing in defiance. Wheeljack twitched his dorsal wings, helm tilting as his pout grew more defined. The harder the medic glared, the higher the engineer turned up the cute.

“One of these days,” Ratchet declared, helm thumping back on to the berth, “I will dump your aft on the floor.” In complete contrast to his words, one of his servos moved to the engineer's back, digits rubbing gentle circles into the plating between his winglets.

“No you won't,” he laughed quietly, melting against the medic at the soothing touch. “You love me too much.”

The larger mech snorted, sliding his other arm around him before rolling over onto his side. It dragged the startled engineer beside him, and he couldn't help but smile at the sleepy squawk he'd caused. Seeing the protest coming, Ratchet shushed him and leaned their helms together. “Half a joor more, but then I _have_ to get up.”

Settling down into his new position, Wheeljack considered wheedling more time before deciding against it. Half a joor was more than he usually talked the medic into. Nuzzling their helms together, he gave a soft hum of agreement. “Okay. Half a joor more.”

The engineer shifted closer, helm tilting up as he pressed a kiss to the medic's chevron. Ratchet's optics were soft when he glanced back down, and he gave the mech a fond smile when he was kissed in turn. The pair drifted back off into recharge not long after, both lulled by the other's warmth and presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note here, a joor is six hours.
> 
> Also, it's been forever since I've updated this piece. Have some cute cuddly dorks. :3


	3. A Not So Typical Night

Not many were brave enough – or crazy enough – to waltz into Wheeljack's lab without a fair amount of caution. The Lancia's reputation as a mad scientist prone to fits of explosive genius was as legendary as the rest of Optimus Prime's inner circle of officers. Ratchet had his own reputation, as well, and it was one he had no issue taking full advantage of if it kept his friends and comrades alive til the end of the war. Of course, like most reputations there were discrepancies and exaggerations if one were to take the actual time to get to know the mech in question.

Wheeljack, for instance, did not blow up as many of his inventions as the rest of the Autobots were only too happy to believe. Some of the explosions were deliberate and set off in the reinforced chamber off the main lab for just such testing. Others were due to the nature of some of the volatile materials he worked with. Usually the blast was contained or minimized, but accidents did happen. Naturally, the engineer merrily waving around a severed limb due to energon loss afterwards did not help his reputation in the slightest.

Ratchet, on the other hand, _did_ have a rather impressive temper, and he _did_ give equally impressive lectures, but he saved the wrench throwing for a few select idiots that needed the extra fire lit under their afts. Cruel irony that those special snowflakes just happened to be most of his closest friends, and his thrice-damned mate who didn't have to explode anything to frustrate him to no end.

Standing in the deserted corridor just before the lab doors, narrowed blue optics glared daggers at the cheerful green light indicating it was safe to enter. The indicator lights were just as much a safety measure as a deterrent. Given the sensitive nature of some of his work – sensitive being highly classified in this case – it wouldn't do if someone were to accidentally walk in and see something they shouldn't have. Special Ops was notoriously secretive about their equipment. Ratchet would know, given just how hard it was to pin the fraggers down for routine maintenance. The lights had another unintended function, however.

They told him the labs were occupied.

Had anyone been present to witness the medic march into the labs, they would have probably sent a quick prayer to Primus. Whether that prayer would have been for Ratchet or for Wheeljack could have been argued either way depending on the bot. Anyone that knew the pair, however, would know immediately.

Wheeljack was in Trouble.

The lab proper consisted of an open area populated with large banks of computers for running simulations and crunching numbers in a timely manner. Beyond that, a maze of whirling, beeping machines and equipment greeted him as he strode toward Wheeljack's work space located further in. He'd long since memorized the chaotic layout, and while it certainly looked like a junk heap had been dumped inside, the engineer was surprisingly precise in how he organized things.

It still drove Ratchet crazy that he couldn't be a little more neat about it.

Coming around another bank of computers, the medic finally caught sight of his mate. Wheeljack was bent over one of his work benches, peering through a hefty sized magnifying glass. Just beneath the large piece of glass sat a complex, convoluted, and increasingly smaller set of magnifying glasses. Small sparks jumped here and there as the engineer carefully soldered what looked to be a tiny relay to the circuit board he was focused on.

Primus knew he didn't actually need the ridiculous looking contraption he was looking through. Their optics were more than advanced enough to achieve the sort of magnification he needed as a scientist. Wheeljack being Wheeljack, however, had taken one look at a similar device used by early day human scientists and declared that he did in fact need one.

Ratchet bit back a vent, exasperated fondness temporarily warring with his ire. His enthusiasm and open curiosity had always been endearing. Even when they had first met and he'd written the engineering student off as crazy, he'd begrudgingly admired his tenacity. Wheeljack did not let anyone's opinion deter him from enjoying life.

A smile started tugging the corners of his mouth upwards before he suddenly shook his helm.

No, he would not go soft. Not this time. Mentally putting his pede down, he waited patiently for the engineer to finish. Small circuits required a delicate, steady servo and a sharp focus. No matter how annoyed he was, Ratchet would not deliberately startle him knowing it would likely ruin his work.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait long.

Wheeljack leaned back a few minutes later, tilting the small green board to and fro before giving a pleased nod. The unsuspecting engineer set it beside a shaped piece of metal that would likely house it and several like it in the near future before slowly leaning back and stretching his arms upwards.

Ratchet could hear his stiff joints protesting like firecrackers and the weary vent that followed was unmistakably exhausted. He crossed his arms, a frown settling firmly on his face. The movement was enough to finally catch his mate's attention and Wheeljack jolted in surprise.

“Ratchet! What are you still doing up? Shouldn't you be recharging?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Wheeljack paused, having just gotten on his feet to properly greet the medic when his tone and expression registered. When he answered, his voice had a cautionary note to it that almost made his statement a question. “I'm just finishing up some work I got behind on...?”

Ratchet gave an obliging nod as his arms dropped and he slowly approach the now rightfully wary mech. “I'm assuming you were doing the same last night?”

“Yes...?”

“And the night before?” He prowled closer, keeping his voice light.

“Yeees....?” Wheeljack was edging backward, optics darting side to side in search of an escape route.

There would be no escape. Not this time. He was boxed in by his own traitorous equipment, with no way out but through the medic. Ratchet stepped up in front of him, casually leaning forward til he was practically looming over his mate. The engineer leaned as far back on the bench as he was able, servos up in a placating manner. It did not help. Red servos landed on the edge of the table on either side of him, effectively trapping him as the medic stared him down.

“Were you planning on getting any recharge this orn?” And still Ratchet's voice was deceptively light.

“I've gotten recharge!” Wheeljack was quick to protest. A little too quick.

He gave the engineer a disbelieving look, one optic ridge raised skeptically. “When? Better yet, where? It certainly hasn't been our berth.” Ratchet was a notoriously light recharger. He'd have noticed the engineer slipping in and out of the room. It didn't help that Wheeljack had a terrible habit of throwing himself onto the berth.

“Well...” Wheeljack was stalling, and the guilty wilt of his dorsal wings only sealed it. The Lancia only stalled when he knew Ratchet wouldn't like the answer. “I've taken a nap... or two.”

“A nap?” Primus save him. A quick scan of the now fidgeting engineer confirmed his suspicions. “You mean a forced shut down because your energy levels are just this shy of tanking? You do not get to scold me for not getting enough recharge only to go and do the same thing!”

“But-”

“No.”

“I need to-”

“No.”

“Can't I-”

“ _No._ ” Ratchet closed what little gap remained between them, nearly nose to mask with the engineer. Frame flush against his mate's, he let his engine rumble his displeasure. “You are about to drop, Wheeljack. This isn't healthy and I worry about you enough as it is. I push myself more than I should, but even I recognize my limits.”

“Liar,” came the immediate answer, and the medic could just imagine the pout hidden behind the engineer's blast mask. Blast it. Why was it so hard to stay angry with Wheeljack?

“Fine, I recognize them when I'm called on it,” he relented before shaking his helm. “My point still remains. Whatever you're working on can wait. Don't make me put you on medical leave. You know I will.”

Wheeljack slumped against him, what little fight remained gone in the face of being locked out of his own lab. “Please don't. I wouldn't know what to do with myself.”

“Recharge?” he suggested archly. Before the engineer could retort he enveloped the smaller mech in a brief, but tight hug before finally stepping back. He needn't have bothered. The exhausted engineer only followed to lean into him once more.

“I'm sorry, Ratchet. I got hit with so many things at once I thought it'd be better to just get it all done.”

“It's been days, Wheeljack,” he scolded, but spared the poor mech any further words. He'd made his point, and the engineer had already made it clear he wasn't going to resist or argue with him over it any further. “What am I going to do with you?”

The Lancia looked up, optics squinted in poorly disguised humor. “I could ask the same thing,” he parroted Ratchet's earlier words. “You're worse than I am.”

The medic's optics narrowed, but his own amusement was clear in his voice. “No, I think this about brings us even.”

“Are you sure? There was that time you-”

“Oh shush.” Lightly flicking the engineer on the helm, he tugged him away from his work bench and toward the lab entrance. Wheeljack didn't resist, his grey servo firmly clasping his mate's as he was led toward their quarters. Ratchet glanced back at him when he felt the gentle squeeze of his servo. The engineer was happily squinting at him, a clear sign he was smiling behind his mask. Ratchet answered in kind, servo tightening as the lab doors shut behind them.

The real question was what would either of them do without the other?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orn = two weeks.
> 
> I'm back with another drabble that sort of got away from me. The original bunny was supposed to be a short, funny piece with Ratchet looming over an overworked Wheeljack. Maybe have him storming down the halls and everyone else vacating post haste. Not quite how it turned out... Ah well. I can't complain. I like how it turned out.
> 
> Blame any mistakes on me being tired and needing sleep myself. XD


End file.
